


There You Are

by aleunia



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Crying Louis, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Harry Styles Has Social Anxiety, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mentions of emotional/psychological abuse, Nothing too explicit, Self-Hatred, Sexual Content, don't lose your shit karen xx, i'll stop, it's a dark fic but with a very fluffy ending, okay NOW I'll stop tagging, stop tagging you say?, they love each other so fucking much it PAINS me, they're married in this fic so fuck off antis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:47:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25352683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleunia/pseuds/aleunia
Summary: Louis doesn't love himself. Harry loves him more than enough for the both of them.Titled after Zayn's absolute masterpiece of a song. Do I regret it? Not one bit.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had been listening to Icarus Falls after it was first released and instantly thought of Harry and Louis when 'There You Are' came on over my speakers. At first, I didn't have a clue what to do with that information other than tweet a little something about the song (it was deleted a while ago because of account issues, unfortunately). A few weeks ago, something clicked in my brain and I started writing this with no real clue of where it was going. A spontaneous decision that I don't regret in the slightest! Really hope you guys like this one - it's more serious than what I generally write on here, so I hope that doesn't bother anybody too much. <3

He should've known it was a bad idea from the start.

It wasn't like he had any other choice - or at least any choices that didn't result in absolute chaos in the band and with their families. His two options had been, quite frankly, _bad_ and _fucking disastrous._

Although, the former wasn't exactly just _bad._

He'd figured that perhaps there'd be loopholes he could slip through to keep at least a _fraction_ of his real life open to the public, but of course the contract had left none of that available. It had well and truly snatched his little bit of reality from him, leaving him a pawn in their twisted game of fame and dishonesty and _reputation._

They all had roles to play. Especially the main two who had caused the supposed 'issue' to begin with. All that mattered was _reputation -_ how they looked in the newspapers, on social media; any public platform that their beloved fans and toxic haters and everybody else in between could access. Could view. Just so they could maintain the desired _image_ that Modest- that _Simon Cowell_ desired.

The perfect boyband - the parent-like figure, the innocent one, the bad boy, the sassy bitch and the whore that every girl and guy thirsted over, no matter what. And now that the bad boy was gone, one of them had to play both roles like a guitar. Like it was merely an extension of themselves, playing elegant sounds like nobody could dislike. 

Louis _hated it._ Hated playing that role. 

The one that was in love with the wrong person. 

xxx

He'd had to kiss her once. Or twice. Just for the cameras. In truth, he couldn't remember how many times he'd had to kiss her or she'd had to kiss him, just to debunk what Modest deemed was so dirty, so unwelcome, so _ugly._ The contract was binding, he knew, had known from the moment he'd signed it - but he'd never once considered they'd force the kisses, the smoking together, the implied sex between the two of them, each sentence so carefully phrased in each paper so that it was undoubted – so that nobody could _possibly_ deny that Louis was absolutely in love with her, and her with him.

There was only one person who Louis ever loved to do those things with – loved to laugh with, cry with, smoke with (even though said person hated smoking more than he hated the knots in his hair); loved kissing, loved all of the intimacy with. 

Yet fate had certainly never been on his side. It wasn’t like it was his first brush with bad luck or bad timing, after all – he’d had plenty of those moments throughout his life. Like that one time he’d broken his leg playing football, or the other time he was punched in the face in the hallway at school by one of the awfully tall _assholes_ that had always preyed on him. But this - - _this_ by far had been the worst, having the person he loved most of all be the one person that Simon would have done anything to get rid of.

Hell, even _Zayn_ would have been better than Harry, in Simon's opinion. Simply because of Harry's preference with the ladies; simply because of his reputation as the _whore,_ as the _sex symbol._

Louis could never have really handled it. _Never._

After the first kiss he'd had to share with her publicly, in either twenty-twelve or twenty-thirteen – the years had seemed to blur together at some point and he’d ultimately lost track, although he’d suspected it had been twenty-thirteen – with all of the paparazzi, all of the flashing cameras and blinding lights full of _lieslieslies_ , he'd retreated in tears back to Harry's arms. 

Harry had held him as he'd cried, as he'd sobbed and whispered that he was sorry, _so so sorry,_ that he'd fucked up, and everything in between.

_"Harry," Louis sobbed, clutching his fiancé’s shirt in shaking fists, face pressed underneath Harry's jaw, right above his pounding heart, Louis' tears staining both of their shirts as he trembled violently, unable to stop himself. "Harry, I can't, I'm so sorry - - "_

_"Lou," Harry murmured, arms wrapped around Louis' entire body, moulding him to the younger man as he cried, couldn't stop himself from crying, Harry leaning back against the wall as they slowly sank down, Louis cradled between Harry's knees and in his lap as he gripped Harry's shirt like a lifeline, head still nestled beneath Harry's chin, one hand drifting so he could press it over Harry's consistent and strong and reassuring heartbeat._

_"Lou, sweetheart, I need you to talk to me,” Harry whispered, voice deep yet somehow reminding Louis of the fragile sixteen-year-old he’d met all that time ago in the dirty Battle of the Bands bathroom. Perhaps it was the watery quality he could sense Harry’s eyes had taken on. “Please, Lou."_

_He gulped, hands shaking, breath ragged as he panicked and struggled to reign himself in long enough to explain the entire damn thing. Harry had sensed that, seen it and clutched him closer, pressing a soft kiss to Louis’ pulse point, mouth drifting over the smaller man’s neck in an attempt to steady him and bring him back to the present._

_It had worked, if only for a moment, since Louis had found the willpower to blurt out in one exhale, "They made me kiss - - kiss her, for the stupid paps, I'm so sorry, I'm so fucking sorry Harry - - “ And he’d broken down again into sobs and tears and rasps for oxygen as Harry fell silent, processing his words as Louis panickedpanickedpanicked, unable to fully draw himself out of it, despite Harry’s arms around him, Harry’s comfort, Harry’s warmth that he’d familiarised himself with over the years._

_He started to cry even harder as Harry pulled him closer, tilting his head enough so he could press a soft, chaste kiss to Louis’ mouth. Louis chased after the contact after Harry pulled away, Harry kissing the tears from his cheeks before diving in to reclaim Louis’ lips as his own, letting Louis’ tongue instinctively slip into his mouth, a murmured, “I love you, Lou,” getting lost between them as Louis pressed closer, kissing him so deeply that Harry’s back was jammed harshly against the wall. Harry didn’t care, kissing back just as fiercely, soft fingers wiping away Louis’ tears as they continued to flow, the two of them wrapped together like it was their last day on Earth._

They’d stayed like that for hours afterwards, just holding each other on the floor, Harry adjusting them so his back wasn’t being forced uncomfortably against the wall and so Louis could rest his head over Harry’s heart as a motion of reassurance. Louis would forever be loath to admit that although it had been comforting for both of them, that little gesture on his behalf, he had found it more emotional than Harry.

What he would also be forever loath to admit was the fact that similar situations had been cropping up for a year or two now _–_ pretty much at least once a month each year after the first kiss with Eleanor.

It wasn’t like it was her fault; wasn’t like it was her fault for when he had those moments where he completely lost control of his emotions. In reality, she was a lovely person, somebody who didn’t deserve to be tied to a popstar with his heart stolen by another. She deserved a better life – one free of the acting, one where she could date whoever she pleased without fear of repercussions.

Louis couldn’t help but hate himself even more than he already did for being the reason she was denied those things she so clearly desired. Eleanor would say he was wrong, that it wasn’t his fault at all, but of course it was. After all, if he’d just dated a woman instead of the person he truly did love, they wouldn’t be in their current situation.

Another obvious fact was that he simply didn’t have the willpower to do that. To force himself into the unhappy life he supposed he deserved, after causing everybody so much trouble. He’d apologise constantly for it to each person affected – his family, the boys, Eleanor, _Harry,_ yet they’d all brush him off and say that it couldn’t be helped. That they didn’t care – that they loved him, cared for him anyway. Sometimes, it would be hard to believe, with his anxiety ultimately disallowing him any chance of a peaceful, serene life, but they all made efforts for him.

Niall would take him out for a drink or a soccer match, depending on how Louis was faring. If he was an absolute mess, alcohol was never a good idea, but Louis didn’t mind whatever they did when he was with the Irish lad. He was always good at getting Louis to distract himself from the problems at hand and just _have fun._

Liam, on the other side of the spectrum, was the person Louis would often go and yell at, take his anger and sadness out on, purely because Liam _understood._ He’d been tentative at first, having completely lost his mind once and shouted at Liam until his voice had been too ruined to sing, but Liam had insisted that it was alright.

He let Louis cry and scream and cry some more with him because he knew what the stress was like – what it could lead to if they weren’t careful in handling it. So he let, more like _encouraged_ Louis to be aggressive with him, to shout and cry and scream until his lungs would give out, because he’d much rather let Louis expel his emotions than bottle them up and let the situation scale out of control.

Ultimately, his favourite person to go to had once been his best-friend. Zayn would take him on little outings, either just the two of them or with Gigi – and sometimes even Liam. It had become something of their little thing after a particularly dramatic meltdown Louis had experienced after they’d been bombarded by paparazzi late 2013 and Zayn had dragged him off to a taxi and hauled him somewhere that Louis hadn’t even recognised before Zayn had told him.

Even after their fight, after their stupid disagreements, Zayn still took him on those trips to help him, ignoring the fact that he’d told Louis he was going to leave the next year and that he wasn’t even a huge part of Louis’ life anymore in favour of looking after the person he’d once considered the person closest to him. 

He couldn’t lie when he said he was entirely thankful for it – thankful for Zayn’s huge heart, his capacity for forgiveness. Especially when it came to Louis’ brash behaviour and his habits of not giving a single _shit._

_“Maybe you two should just run away,” Zayn mused, tone entirely serious as he threw a rock as far as he could – the resounding ‘pop’ and ripples in the lake the only signs of his efforts. Not that he’d actually put any effort into it – it had been a half-hearted throw at best._

_Louis didn’t really notice, if he was completely honest, preferring to dwell on his friend’s words as he flicked through the pages of ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’, the book Niall had been bugging him to read for years._

_Louis smiled wistfully at the thought. “If only it was that easy.”_

_Zayn shrugged, muttering a soft, “I got permission to leave, so you could do it,” before he tossed another rock – this one closer to a pebble – into the lake before them._

_They’d retreated to someplace in some forestry area that Louis couldn’t recall the name of, having hiked for a good hour and a half before locating the lake and setting down an old, thick white blanket Louis had hauled from his and Harry’s home before they’d flopped on to it unceremoniously._

_Louis had been relieved to see that Zayn looked more relaxed than the last time they’d met up alone (they never did much of that anymore, with all of the press and being with the other boys for most of their time) – and he looked like he’d put on some much-needed weight, too._

_It was a reassuring thought that ultimately floated to the back of his head as he turned over the possibility of doing exactly when Zayn had done – getting up and leaving. Except he’d have to figure out a way so Harry could, too._

_He knew deep down that neither he nor Harry had the willpower to do such a thing. Nor did they really want to. They really did enjoy it in the band, truly, and Louis knew that neither of them would give it up for anything._

_Besides, it was 2014. Soon the contract would be up for renewal and adjustment, so he and Harry could undoubtedly work something in that would play in their advantage. He was just fed up – sick of Simon’s antics in making him feign love, making him hate himself for everything he was, making him cry in Harry’s arms way too often to be considered alright._

_He put his book down and leaned his head against Zayn’s shoulder, his friend looping a gentle arm around his shoulders – almost protectively. Louis could’ve cried again, but he steeled himself long enough to whisper a soft and choked, “I love him too much,” before he had to stop and wipe a silent tear from his left cheek._

_Zayn pulled him closer, pausing his rock throwing and slowly closing the book, bending the page Louis had left it open on so he could find it later. “You could never love him too much,” Zayn murmured. “You love him endlessly, and that’s perfect. Don’t beat yourself up over finding your soulmate at the wrong time.”_

_Louis usually would have teased him for referring to Harry as Louis’ soulmate, but he was inclined to agree with the statement. He’d truly, well and truly, met the one person in the world he’d do anything for – would give his life for without even a second thought._

_He just sighed and let Zayn tug him closer, the two of them watching the lake as the breeze shifted between the trees._

xxx

_December, 2014._

It was one of _Those_ days again. _Those_ days had become something of a proper-noun within the band, all of them recognising the heavy emotions in the air and ultimately rearranging everything so said emotions could be accommodated as harmlessly as possible.

Harry had noticed it as soon as he’d woken up, naked in bed with Louis pressed close up against his back, Harry curled into a ball so he could fit properly against his husband. Louis’ arm was slack over Harry’s torso, his other hand still pressed beneath the younger’s jaw – exactly how they’d fallen asleep the night before.

The warm blanket tossed over their bodies had gotten a little tangled between Louis’ legs, so Harry, despite being only half-awake, the remains of sleep refusing to let him go free, he pulled the blanket out and threw it back over their bodies once more.

Louis made a small noise in his sleep and Harry closed his eyes again, shuffling closer and tucking his hands up beneath his chin. Louis must’ve been at least semi-awake, given the fact his arm over Harry’s torso tightened and he gave Harry’s closest elbow a weighted, emotional _good-morning_ caress, running his fingers along the skin so gently and so reverently that goose-bumps rose along Harry’s flesh.

The younger couldn’t help but smile because, really, even the smallest displays of affection from the one he loved most of all set his insides all fuzzy and gooey and _warm._ And something so heavy, yet welcome between them made him feel like he was going to catch fire. Like he was standing directly in the spring sunshine, or right beside a flaring bonfire, reaching insistently for his entirely flammable attire.

He never wanted to lose that feeling – the love between the two of them like a bright red ribbon, saying they _belonged_ to each other, _with_ each other. It went unspoken, yet it was clear. Harry loved it – so, so incredibly much.

There was something a little bit strange within the action, though – like it was hesitant, scared. It wasn’t like Louis’ usual good morning gestures; it wasn’t smooth, wasn’t as brazen or carefree as usual.

Of course, Harry had immediately recognised the weight of the action, the emotion behind it, but it wasn’t like Louis’ morning self to be so… Serious. Like Louis wasn’t entirely sure if he had _permission_ to touch Harry, and was making the most of it, as though he was going to lose him.

It was that thought that sparked the anxiousness in Harry’s chest, the guilt that he felt for no reason whatsoever as he turned on to his other side to face Louis, tucking himself in close, head pressed under Louis’ jaw. They fit together perfectly – Louis arm still slung over Harry’s torso and Harry’s hands pressed between their chests, one hovering softly over his husband’s slightly uneven heartbeat.

He knew that Louis could get like this sometimes, emotional and soft and overall sensitive, but he still wasn’t used to it. It wasn’t often his husband fell into that well of heaviness, so Harry didn’t have much prior experience to draw from, so he could only hope what he was doing was okay – showing Louis how much he loved him, how much he loved Louis when Louis didn’t love himself; how set he was on spending his entire damn _life_ with the smaller man, no matter the challenges they faced.

It seemed to work, at least a little bit, because just as he leaned up to capture Louis’ lips with his own, Louis reached up with his hand that had been bracing Harry’s neck and cupped the younger’s cheek, bringing him even closer by tightening his arm on Harry’s torso to the point where they probably looked more like one being instead of two because of how _well_ they slotted together. Like they’d been made for each other.

Harry didn’t doubt they were.

“Harry,” Louis whispered, voice heavy with the remnants of sleep as he clutched him close, like Harry was his lifeline – the only thing keeping his alive. His hands trembled where they gripped at Harry’s naked body, all sharp angles with the softer parts of him that puberty had left behind.

Louis loved all of them, loved all of the little parts of Harry’s body that made the younger feel insecure, and Harry couldn’t have felt safer if he tried, held close in the arms that loved him most.

“Oops,” Harry responded softly, a small grin stretching across his face as the realisation dawned on Louis’ expression. Their faces were pressed so close together they could feel each other breathing, and if anything that helped centre Harry’s mentality as he held Louis closer, Louis managing to whisper out a soft and choked, “Hi,” before Harry connected their lips and their eyes slipped closed, moulding against each other.

Louis moved his hand to cup the back of Harry’s skull as he slipped his tongue softly between Harry’s lips, provoking the younger into making a small noise of satisfaction in the back of his throat.

Still tangled in the blankets, Louis managed to shift them so he was pressed over the top of Harry’s body, slotted between Harry’s spread legs perfectly – narrow hips making the fit easy, like it was second nature (which, at this point, it definitely _was_ second nature). Their lips were still working in sync, Harry reaching up to grip Louis’ shoulders gently, massaging his thumbs into the muscles and making Louis groan into his mouth.

Sometimes this was what would help Louis get past his emotional blockade he’d subconsciously build for himself. The purely intimate interactions between the two of them – something they held so dear to themselves, to each other, considering they rarely had time to appreciate the other - - _worship_ their bodies.

Harry found that it centred him alongside it centring Louis, so he didn’t complain when Louis pressed down closer, smiling into the kiss as he withdraw and moved to Harry’s neck. He wasn’t fast enough for Harry to miss the silent tears rolling down Louis’ face, Harry feeling his heart fracture just a little bit as Louis kissed his pulse point deceptively softly, the younger somehow manoeuvring his limbs from Louis’ shoulders so he could wipe Louis’ tears from his flushed cheeks as the older one of the two nipped at his skin, sucking marks, _claiming_ marks in places that could be covered during press, so that they wouldn’t get in trouble – so that nothing was suspected.

“I love you,” Louis breathed into the space between them, having drawn back to admire Harry’s flushed figure beneath him. Harry’s breathing was out of time, cheeks flushed and head spinning a little from the absolutely heavenly feeling Louis had left behind while leaving those marks on his pale skin. 

Harry propped himself up on his right forearm while he reached with his left to wipe away the stray tears rolling down Louis’ cheeks once more, murmuring his response of, “I love you so goddamn much I think I’m going to go insane because of you,” and no matter how cheesy it had been, the honesty in his voice gave him away and the breathtaking grin that stretched across Louis’ lips was worth the momentary embarrassment.

Louis fell down on to his forearms that were resting on either side of Harry’s skull, bringing their lips teasingly close together. Harry tried to chase after the contact, adamantly avoiding admitting to himself how desperate he was for it, but Louis pulled away with that incredible grin still on his face.

“Louis,” Harry whined, high-pitched and needy, heart racing in his chest. Louis laughed softly, wiping at his eyes as they watered, threatening to spill those horrible tears once more.

Harry wasn’t sure if they were happy, thankful tears or overwhelmed and upset tears, so he responded in the best way he could by leaning up and cupping the back of Louis’ skull, pressing soft kisses along the skin on Louis’ throat before sucking dark hickeys where he had kissed. Louis issued a short sort of sob and Harry’s grip on him tightened, saying _‘I’m here, I’ve got you, it’s okay’_ and Louis leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering closed as he let the emotions swarm his senses – so overwhelmed he could barely discern Harry’s body, Harry’s conscience from his own, the overpowering feeling of them being one being absolutely destroying his self-control and resilience against crying.

What really, truly broke Louis was when Harry twisted to kiss the lines of scars along Louis' wrists, each kiss so full of love and reverence and _appreciation_ that he couldn't stop the quiet crying that slipped from his lips as Harry pulled back, looking at him with such wide eyes that Louis could see his husband's entire soul through them.

“I love you,” Louis repeated, choking on his cries, the tears rolling freely again as he moved down again and slotted their lips together once more. "I l-love you so - - love you _so_ fucking _much_." Harry reached up and gripped his shoulders again and moved his hips in a search for friction, a returned _‘I love you, Lou, so much, so fucking much; never gonna stop fucking loving you’_ getting lost between them.

An hour or so later and they had ended up with lazy making out and that addictive gentle sex, the emotion heavy between them as Harry had started to tear up, alongside Louis, Louis kissing his tears away like Harry had begun to do so often for him.

They’d remained tangled together in the sheets for a while, Harry adamantly ignoring the vaguely dirty feeling on his skin where his come had been before Louis had washed them down with a towel soaked in warm water from the bathroom, having adjusted themselves so Harry was once again burrowed into Louis’ side, letting the smaller man run his gentle fingers through the knots in the younger’s hair.

He’d shower later, he decided internally, hopefully with Louis joining him – innocently or not, Harry didn’t really care. The peacefulness of their shared moment was something he wasn’t willing to give up, not quite yet. He’d turned on his and Louis’ shared playlist in the background, _‘Use Somebody’_ by _Kings of Leon_ playing on low volume over the speakers positioned tactically around the room.

Harry knew Louis absolutely adored the song for its beautiful sound and in turn, so did he.

Harry’s own hands were wrapped around Louis, keeping him close and in their bubble of serenity – of comfort. He was pleased to have noticed that Louis had stopped crying, despite his eyes staying just a little watery, which meant he was feeling better than he had been when they’d woken up. And _that_ meant he felt like he wasn’t about to lose Harry – knew that Harry belonged to him again instead of to the fame and the band and _Modest._

It usually went like that, Louis terrified that he was about to lose Harry for good, but Harry continuously reassured him, refusing to let his husband feel so lost and lonely over something that neither of them would ever let happen. Ever.

Unfortunately, when it was one of Those days, Louis’ happy moments never lasted for longer than an hour or two. It was like an impending burden on his conscience – that feeling of loss, of loneliness, of _fear_ and rejection, and it had a habit of returning at the most awful of times.

Harry just prayed that Louis would let him help him, like he usually did, like he had only a little while before. Sometimes, when it was too bad for Louis to handle on his own, he’d insist he _needed_ to fix it on his own. Figure out why on Earth he felt like such _shit._

Harry knew better, had learned from the years of knowing Louis that whenever the older of the two bottled his emotions up – sadness, anger, anything really – it didn’t end well for anybody. Especially Louis himself. It was probably related to feeling like he should be more independent, shouldn’t need to rely on anybody else, but Harry refused to let him feel like that. Louis was independent, of course, but dependency was something everybody had and Harry just wanted Louis to acknowledge that – to recognise that he couldn’t do everything on his own. Nobody could, really. Reliance was something human society as an entirety revelled in – _appreciated._

Louis’ phone was buzzing insistently on the beside table and he groaned, irritated, reaching blindly for the device and clasping it with his fingers. Harry made a disapproving sound at the movement, curling in closer, knees bent so they pressed against Louis’ thighs.

A text notification had popped up on the screen, but Louis moved it so he could read it properly and Harry hadn’t had enough time to work out who had sent it or what the message contained.

So, instead, he read Louis’ expressions and reactions to each sentence, reading each little sign on his husband’s face that meant insignificant things to weighted emotions. Louis didn’t have a middle ground – he had utterly stupid and so weighted that his entire mind-frame was about to collapse. His expressions showed that for people who didn’t know him as well – didn’t know what he was like when he closed himself off, bottled up all of the overwhelming emotions and too afraid to let anybody help him out.

From the look on Louis’ face, it was nothing serious – perhaps fun. Harry’s curiosity was peaked, in all honesty, and he had to fight against the instinct to just snatch the phone from Louis instead of asking him to show him the text (although he doubted Louis would care if he had indeed just taken the device from the older of the two’s hands).

“S’up, love?” Harry asked softly, the words mumbled against the skin of Louis’ neck. Louis shivered pleasantly at the sensation of Harry’s lips on his skin, resuming his fingers stroking through Harry’s hair as he read the message aloud. “Um, s’just somethin’ from Liam. Says, ‘Come hang out with us at the studio. We’re just messin’ around. Love, Li.’ With a lil’ pink heart emoji.”

Harry rolled his eyes, smiling fondly against Louis’ slightly damp skin. “He’s such a sap. Signing his texts? A pink heart heart emoji?” He paused to snort into Louis’ neck, grinning. “Seriously? Who even _uses_ that anymore?”

Louis nodded, the smile reaching his eyes in the most magnificent manner, the entire gesture lighting up his already gorgeous face. It ultimately knocked the oxygen from Harry’s chest whenever he saw that smile – so bright and honest and truly _happy._ “Teenage girls use it,” Louis argued, grinning even wider when Harry laughed against his skin again. “You see it in all o’ their tweets. All the time.”

Harry shoved him playfully. “I’m never _on_ Twitter, though.”

Louis feigned shock, the blatant lie hanging between them like a noose of amusement. Harry was admittedly addicted to Twitter, and he knew that Louis knew it, knew that Louis was going to call him out for it because it was, in all honesty, amusing. “Biggest load of bullshit ever, Styles. You’re never _not_ on Twitter.”

“My Twitter addiction doesn’t change the fact that Liam’s a sap,” Harry protested, pulling back from Louis’ neck to pout at him absolutely adorably. Louis couldn’t help it when he smiled broadly, carded his fingers a little more precisely through Harry’s hair and conceded a small, “Yeah, he isa bit o’ a sap,” quick to add to it so Harry didn’t feel like he’d won. “Oh well. S’a nice feelin’. He makes you _know_ tha’ he appreciates you instead of leavin’ it up to assumption.”

They were both stubborn and competitive, with that element of playfulness that always told Louis that Harry was never mad at him if he lost to the older of the two at a game, or something. If he didn’t know Harry as intimately as he did, didn’t know that Harry couldn’t ever handle being genuinely mad at him, Louis was sure he would’ve broken long before he truly did.

Because, as everyone seemed to see, he had fractured and without Harry, he surely would’ve done something irreversible - heartbreaking. A fractured, broken, _shattered_ human being paired with loneliness was never a good equation. Never had a healthy ending.

A few beats of silence during the changing of the songs in the playlist gently playing music over their speakers were enough for Louis to decide he hated silence. It was enough time for him to slip too deep in his head, into those places that spat cruel slurs and insults at him and the places that told him he wasn’t enough for Harry, would never _be_ enough; would lose him someday, sometime. He _hated_ it.

He hated a lot of things now. What else was there to do, anyway, with all of his mistakes? His mistakes were what caused the hatred. He supposed it was deserved. He’d screwed up enough times for everybody involved with the band, plus another thousand or so strangers.

Harry, god bless, _knew._ Felt the tensing of Louis’ muscles, felt the way his fingers had began to shake where they were carding through the younger’s hair and wrapped underneath Harry’s neck for support. The younger leaned back in, closer to Louis, closing his eyes and pressing one of those all-loving kisses to Louis’ forehead before he moved so his head was resting sideways on Louis’ chest, hand straying so it was sitting over Louis’ rapid heartbeat.

The music had started again, Louis exhaling slowly and adjusting himself enough so he could just merely look down and his face would be buried in Harry’s unnaturally soft hair. He did exactly that, breathing a soft little, “I’m sorry,” to which Harry shook his head against Louis’ chest and tilted himself enough to kiss just to the right of Louis’ heart.

“We gonna go to the studio?” Harry asked Louis gently, so, _so_ gently, like he was treading on a floor of broken glass. “Or do you not feel up to it today? We could stay in, watch movies, play games, whatever you want, Boo Bear.”

Louis smiled into Harry’s hair at the old nickname, inhaling for a good six seconds so his senses could be enveloped by Harry’s scent, the reassurance of it helping his brain stay focused as he breathed out and repeated the pattern a few times.

Harry waited for him, humming along quietly to the song playing over the speakers, which Louis recognised fondly as _Something Great._ Harry’s song to him. Fitting, considering the moment of intimacy they’d been rolling in for the entirety of the morning.

“I think I want to go,” Louis murmured, pulling back from Harry’s hair so he could be heard, already missing the overwhelming scent of Harry’s chocolate-smelling shampoo that seemed to leave behind a permanent tang to the younger’s smell. Louis didn’t mind one bit.

If anything, it reminded him of Harry whenever he smelled something vaguely similar, and he could never be mad when it came to thinking about Harry. “But just - - I don’t wanna be overwhelmed. Or anything. ‘M emotional.”

Harry laughed softly into Louis’ skin, letting his eyes flutter closed in relaxation. “Okay,” was all he said, yet he knew Louis heard the distinct promise in the singular word. Heard the promise that Harry would look after him – and so would the others – and keep him in that happy place for as long as they possibly could.

And Louis smiled into Harry’s hair, leaning forward far enough to kiss his forehead because he felt so loved. So cared for.

And he wouldn’t give it up for anything. Wouldn’t give up his life – his future with the love of his life, curled together in bed and talking about simple times with their best friends in the entirety of the world.

Through the hardships, they’d survive. They always did.

And although he’d struggled, although he was as broken as somebody could be, suffering from emotional and psychological abuse for years, Louis wouldn’t change a single damn thing. Because without any of it, he wouldn’t have met Harry.

Wouldn’t have met his soulmate.


	2. Author's Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> little author’s note x

Hi everybody,

Thank you so incredibly much for your support on this work. I've seen people promoting it on Twitter and Instagram and it truly means the world to me. So again, thank you for your kindness and encouragement. I hope to release a new work soon.

Love,  
S.


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